Hold
on to your tiaras. She’s back. Here's Dame Clare Voyant.
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| Dame Clare Voyant |
Well, My Dears, this time of year reminds
me of door knockers. Ghosts, Goblins and Harper and Fordesque lookalikes scurrying
about in the dark. Now Dears, you may not see all the Harper cronies sneaking
around in the dark just yet but really they are only in the first stages of
filling our minds with thoughts of our 150th Birthday as a nation. My
Goodness, those TV adverts with Old Sir John front and centre really tug at the
heartstrings- don’t they?
2015. That’s when they’ll be knocking on our
doors and ringing our chimes for real, trying to put poor little Justin in the
passenger seat while they strive to drive our country forward. Well, perhaps not forward but more in a
neutral gear.
I must say that My Dears.
I really must.
Demons and zombies may be merrily ring our
bells, yet in the days that follow- the latter days, the Jumpin’ Jehosaphats
and Moremens will be back trick and treating us once again. Perhaps the
Moremens are more pleasurable to talk too and certainly in the case of those
latter boys- even though their little minds are filled to the brim with muck
and mire, nicer to gaze upon.
My Dears, I should hold mind-cleansing
seminars here at the Palais Royale-just on the outskits of town. Oh, but it
wouldn’t be the first time your Royal Dame has saved a soul from the clutches
and claws of the demon right. A few years back two such young men came to the
Palace doorstep. I was completely taken aback by their Darling little faces-
barely shave-worthy, not to mention each was attired in those tight little,
coal-black trousers. At first I was hoping the pair of them were selling
aluminum siding, however, much to my dismay they each pulled out the Good Book
of Moremon from their shoulder manbags and asked if I knew Jesus.
“How ancient do you think I am Dears?”-I
asked, “I’ve seen pictures- reasonable facsimilies at least and heard the
stories but no, he hasn’t supped with me at the oak dropleaf in the South Drawing
Room”.
I continued…
“For one thing Dears, I absolutely throw up
when I see cheap bleached cotton and open-toed sandals- whether sockified or
daringly bare. That however, is a story for another day.”
I continued still.
“No, I have not had the opportunity to know
Jesus”- I reconfirmed with the blonde and dark-haired Moremen straddling my
front threshold.”
I must say that my Dears.
I really must.
I did what any Dame would do. I invited them
in out of the cold for hot chocolate and cookies in the kitchen. One juicy
topic led to another and before your Royal Dameness knew it, each of the
Moremen were blubbering out loud- sobbing actually, as they told me various
life stories. One even recalled a recurring dream he had of late concerning Hugh
Jackman in a black Speedo or wetsuit or something to that effect. I know he
kept mumbling the word “wet” through salty tears.
Your Dame had triumphed once again. I clutched each young man to my breast and patted
their firm backs. I said all would be fine. See My Dears, I should hold
seminars here at the Palais and help even more youngsters who are needy, in want
and wholesome.
I must say that My Dears.
I really must.
Oh Dear, it’s quarter to tea-time and here
I sit clickety-clacking away in my lounge pants and the tea bell could jingle
at any mo’.
Tah for now My Dears.
